


Recovery and Wellness

by lee14324



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Young Avengers (Comics)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes-centric, Bucky is a hipster, Clint Is a Good Bro, I'll probably take some liberties, M/M, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Sam Wilson is a Gift, minor OCs - Freeform, misuse of 1930s slang, other characters might pop up, sort of compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 13:18:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11898558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lee14324/pseuds/lee14324
Summary: He’s carrying a large duffel bag and wearing a thick black hoodie, black leather gloves, comfy looking grey melange sweatpants that Clint is fairly certain are H&M, black military boots, and on his head is a Yankees cap. Add all that to his long hair, tired eyes, and five-o’clock shadow and one might mistake him for a philosophy grad student at NYU.It’s been a minute now, and Barnes isn’t saying anything, so Clint’s brain decides it’s a good time to blurt one of the millions of thoughts floating around in his head.“Y’know, if Cap knew you were wearing a Yankees hat, he’d beat your ass black and blue,” is the thought he just so happens to go with.----In which Bucky's life after Wakanda includes wandering around New York, living with an Avenger, babysitting teenage vigilantes, and maybe rekindling an old romance.





	1. Prelude: MAY 7, 2017

MAY 7, 2017

Bucky holds the ice-cream cone in his metal hand, licking periodically around the edge to keep the melted strawberry ice-cream from dripping. He vaguely remembers that he used to love a vanilla cone covered in chocolate jimmies, and he’s tried it, and sure, it’s good—all ice-cream is good—but strawberry is sweeter and the pretty pastel color reminds him of lazing in the shade of a cherry blossom tree in Prospect Park in the springtime. 

He watches as he lets some of the ice-cream drip onto his metal hand and smiles, bending his neck over to lick the drops on his hand. He loves this, and he loves Clint for dragging him out of the apartment and buying him a cone for his birthday. 

That was two months ago, and now every time he passes an ice-cream vendor, you can damn well be sure that he’s buying a cone. It was an entire month after his first cone that he realized why Clint had dragged him for ice-cream, and when he figured it out, he walked over to Clint and hugged him tight until Lucky began to nudge their legs for attention. 

It’s one of the best “fuck you”s to Hydra there is, their precious fist of Hydra, their Soldat, licking strawberry ice-cream off of his metal hand, a Hydra designed murder weapon. 

(To be fair, his metal arm was no longer Hydra technology as it had been blasted off by Stark. After he woke up, T’challa had put together team comprised of technicians, engineers, neurologists, kinesiologists, and surgeons to study the remains of his arm that they scavenged from Siberia, and how it had worked with his body. The goal was to come up with something similar, but better in every way possible, and they did not disappoint, His current arm was made with Wakandan vibranium, lighter and more durable. The attachment was a painstaking process of dozens of surgeries, painful trial and error, and weeks upon weeks of physical therapy, but it was no longer a Hydra weapon; what would have been a red star on his shoulder was now a white star surrounded by a blue circle with a red border, modeled directly after Captain America’s shield.)

Bucky kind of wants to send a photo Clint took of him last week to an active Hydra base to really rub it in. The photo had been captured while he was enjoying a cone, like the one he currently is, with his metal hand and petting Lucky with his flesh hand, a small smile on his face. He had just shaved and the bags under his eyes were obscured by the light. There was nothing weapon-esque about him.

And it’s so very tempting to print a copy out, frame it, wrap it up in some cute, brightly-colored paper, slap a nice bow on it, and send it to Hydra with a card that says “how you like me now” in pastel-pink cursive typeface, but the risk of potentially giving away his location and endangering Clint far out-weigh the reward. 

He still smiles at the thought of it though. 

Steve probably wouldn’t approve, worried about Bucky having any contact at all with Hydra, even though Clint tells Bucky that Steve has been doubling down on Hydra bases since he left Wakanda. What a stupid, self-righteous, hypocrite. Always has been like that; trying to shoulder his own burdens as well as the burdens of his loved ones. Bucky still thought about revenge a lot, despite his imagined disapproval from Steve. 

One thing living with Clint has taught Bucky is to not let other people’s words and actions make you feel guilty. In Barton’s wise words: “You had the world taken from you for decades, and it’s your turn to be a selfish prick. You can’t change what happened, so use it to your advantage.”

Of course, it had taken him a long time to ignore the spike in anxiety every time he voiced his desires. It took a month before he was even able to ask for specific foods from the grocery store. But because of Clint’s little pep talks, Bucky has adjusted more in the two month’s that he’s lived with the archer than in the two previous months he spent wandering around the city after he left T’challa’s people.

And yeah, being hidden from Steve sucks, because the more he remembers, the more he desperately wants to run to Steve and shout: “I remember when that old Mrs. O’Leary got you in trouble with Father McGrath when she caught us using marbles to gamble for Johnny Bingham’s hooch!” but Bucky knows that, at least up until recently, recovering around Steve would’ve only made him overly-dependent on the man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is my first stucky fic, my first fic on AO3, and my first fic in about 7 years lmao. I wanted to just write it all down and when it was completed I'd upload it, but that didn't happen because I'm weak and need validation. Hope it doesn't suck, and don't expect crazy frequent updates because I'm just sort of jotting down ideas and writing them in short spurts. Other than the prelude, I refuse to post chapters less than 1,000 words long.
> 
> This fic is slightly inspired by [_Learning to Say Hello_ by heartsdesire456](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2301347) which I highly reccomemend.
> 
> Also Bucky's arm is decorated like this:  
> 


	2. I. FEBRUARY 4, 2017

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barnes snorts, and there’s a faint smirk on his lips, and Clint feels a little proud of himself, mentally adding “can make the Winter Soldier sort of laugh” to his List of Abilities.

 FEBRUARY 4, 2017 19:07

The Soldier takes in a deep breath as he watches the door to Clint Barton, Alias: Hawkeye’s apartment in Bedford Stuyvesant, New York. He slowly makes his way closer to the door stopping every few steps to breathe and remind himself this is what’s best for him.

_ <// unclear mission objective>_

_Mission: Live_

_ <// healing is not imperative for survival; physical condition is at 64%>_

_Mission Parameters: Live as a person._

_ <// unclear mission parameters>_

_Shut up._

A woman opens the door exiting Clint Barton, Alias: Hawkeye’s apartment sighing as she she pulls out a phone from her pocket.

 _ <potential_threat:_  
                        _description = female; youth; 165 cm; ~53 kg_  
_approaching_speed = 5.3 km/h_  
_threat_level = 3.4_  
_awaiting_directive… >_

_Stand down. Kate Bishop, Alias: Hawkeye._

_ <…directive_accepted…_  
  _…information_logged…  
      log_ref = “040220171908.log” >_

 

Kate Bishop, Alias: Hawkeye, is looking at her phone and does not pay attention to the Soldier as she passes him, so he continues the task of slowly making his way toward the door. 

 

 _This is it. You can do this. You’ve changed. You are more than a weapon._  

_ <ERROR: input_statement = (“You are more than a weapon.”) returns false>_

A sharp pain shoots through his skull and his temples start to throb. He grinds his teeth and clenches his entire body, balling his hands into tight fists, until the pain becomes dull.

_Would you fucking quit that? Every goddamn time…_

Standing in front of the door now, head still throbbing from the programming “error”, he slowly raises his flesh fist and knocks three times.

 

FEBRUARY 4, 2017 19:03

Clint stumbles as he walks through the door, tripping over—goddammit, Kate—a pair of purple flats, as the girl meanders toward the kitchen to feed Lucky. She glances over at him just in time to see him regain his balance and smirks.

“Y’know, sometimes it’s hard to believe you’re actually an avenger.”

Clint grumbles about her leaving her stuff all over his place, but the kid just rolls her eyes, and begins brewing some coffee.

“I’m not staying, I’ve gotta go meet America for dinner, apparently her girlfriend said something and she’s pissed as hell and I’m on damage control,” Kate hands him the leash and gives him a hard look.

“What?” Clint asks, feeling a little uncomfortable. Teenagers are weird, you can’t ever tell what they’re thinking.

“Are you going to forget to eat again and then order a large pizza at ten-thirty? Eating that late’s gonna make you fat–”

Before Clint has a chance to defend himself, because come on, he trains with fucking Captain America, she’s puts her hand up and continues,

“Y’know what? Never mind. You’re a grown man, if you wanna have a diet consisting solely of pizza, frozen dinners, bad Chinese takeout, beer, and coffee, then that’s your choice.” She picks up her pastel purple tote-bag and heads for the door.

“I’m headed out. Text me if you need anything.” And just like that, she’s gone.

Clint stands alone staring at the door for a few moments, before he realizes she left her flats again. Goddammit.

He begins to walk towards the pot of coffee that’s almost done brewing when there’s a knock at the door. He walks over, purposely not tripping on the purple shoes, and opens the door.

“Finally, gonna take your shoes back? You need to stop leaving your shi–“ He cuts off abruptly as his mind catches up with his eyes. 

 _That’s not Katie-Kate_ , his brain chimes in helpfully as he stands face to goddamn face with _the fucking Winter Soldier_. They stare at each other for a while before Clint actually looks him up and down.

He’s carrying a large duffel bag and wearing a thick black hoodie, black leather gloves, comfy looking grey melange sweatpants that Clint is fairly certain are H&M, black military boots, and on his head is a Yankees cap. Add all that to his long hair, tired eyes, and five-o’clock shadow and one might mistake him for a philosophy grad student at NYU. 

It’s been a minute now, and Barnes isn’t saying anything, so Clint’s brain decides it’s a good time to blurt one of the millions of thoughts floating around in his head.

“Y’know if Cap knew you were wearing a Yankees hat, he’d beat your ass black and blue,” is the thought he just so happens to go with. 

It comes out before he thinks about it, and Barnes’ eyes widen and Clint wants to jump off a building because why the fuck did he have to say that? But before he can even get an apology out, Barnes snorts, and there’s a faint smirk on his lips, and Clint feels a little proud of himself, mentally adding “can make the Winter Soldier sort of laugh” to his List of Abilities.

He looks Barnes over once more, and then theres only one thing on his mind: Fuck it. If anyone should know how shitty it is to come out of being a brain washed assassin, it’s Clinton Francis Barton. So he steps aside and gestures for the deadly supersoldier assassin to come in, because honestly if he’s gonna die, having someone as hot as Barnes kill him wouldn’t be a bad way to go.

“Feel free to sit wherever,” Clint mumbles, grabbing the coffee pot and two mugs before pouring a cup for himself and Barnes. “You take sugar or milk in your coffee? I don’t have cream,” he turns to look at Barnes, whose face is contorted into a look of deep consideration.

“Um, three spoonfuls of sugar… I think,” he says and the texture of his voice is raw, like it’s covered in rust from disuse.

Clint decides it would be better to just let Barnes put sugar in his own coffee so he brings the two mugs now full of black coffee over, one with a spoon inside, balancing a tupperware container full of sugar in between his arm and his chest, and places everything carefully on the table in front of the couch.

“Here,” he mutters, wiping off the spoon with a tissue and opening the container, “figured you could put in as much as you want.”

“Thanks.”

They both drink their coffee in silence. Clint doesn’t mind; he has things he wants to ask, sure, but he figures he’ll let Barnes talk first.

“I,” Barnes starts and pauses to gather his thoughts some more. When he next speaks the words come out slowly like he’s choosing each word carefully because he’s afraid Clint will misunderstand or get angry. “I know it’s sudden, and I know you have no reason to believe me. I just, I need a place to stay, for–for a while.” The poor guy looks like he wants to jump out of his skin.

Okay. Okay, Clint can do that but–

“Why me?” he can’t help but ask. He’s genuinely confused. Wouldn’t Barnes want to go to his best friend, who could help him properly?

“Because…” he pauses again, unsure. “You fight well. You have allies that could stop me if I went batshit again, and because you know what it’s like,” he opens his mouth to add something, but closes it a moment later.

“There’s more, isn’t there?” Clint needs to know more. Those are all good reasons but it doesn’t fully explain why him and not Steve or Nat.

“I don’t want to go to Natalia because I’m not ready to confront her about our time in the…Room. And I–I can’t go to Steve right now. I want to but, I’m not ready. Even coming to you is hard for me. I need time to figure this,” he points to his head, “out.” 

There’s one more thing Clint knows he needs to ask Barnes about. 

“What about Wakanda? I thought T’challa’s people were watching over you.”

“They were. They unfroze me when they figured out how to train the c–code words out of my head. The words still hurt when I hear them but they don’t affect me like they used to anymore. I’m just still…”

He trails off and Clint understands what he’s not saying; _I’m still fucked up_. Barnes takes a deep breath.

“I need to be clear, I’m still very fucked up. The words don’t work like they used to but some of the asset’s programming is still in me. The only difference is I’m the handler now,” Bucky looks briefly at him before turning his gaze downward. “Tell me to leave if you don’t want me here. You don’t need a reason.”

“You said it yourself, Barnes. Out of all of the Avengers excluding Nat, I’m the one that understands it the most. I only had one day of brainwashed assassinating and I still have nightmares about it. You can’t rush healing. This is already a huge leap in the right direction.”

Silence takes over again as they sip at their coffee, Barnes occasionally putting his mug down on the coffee table to scratch Lucky behind the ear.

“They sometimes had us use sniffing dogs for missions,” Barnes starts quietly, speaking as if he was unsure of his own words. “They made me kill the dogs after each mission though,” his tone is grave, and full of guilt.

Clint feels a sudden spike in anxiety at hearing this and seeing Lucky. He has to take a breath before rationality takes over. It’s okay. He’s not going to kill the dog.

“It’s nice being gentle with one now.”

Their eyes meet and Barnes isn’t smiling but Clint can tell that in that moment, petting Lucky, Barnes is some form of calm.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The writing for the Winter Soldier state of mind is loosely inspired by [_killing since 1943_ by forgeturself](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10164662/chapters/22580702)
> 
> Anyways, I'll try to update? I need to be doing a billion other things urgently but instead I'm doing this. Ha ha ha ha. Kill me.


End file.
